Naughty Little Gift -- A Temptation Court Novella (Temptation Court, Book 1) by Angel Payne Page A

I’m not opposed to kilts or taking them off, if that’s the request.” He sobers a little while tugging at his hair, which tumbles lushly into his eyes. “Scottish is somewhere in my mutt mix, which is why my hair turns a little red in the sun…or so Mom tells me.”
    “Your Maimanne ?” This new revelation tempers my jealousy about Prim—for the moment. “Are you two close?”
    A smile remains on his face but changes. Softens. “Yeah. You could say that.”
    “Why?” I return. “Why…could I say that?”
    His smile evaporates. “We’ve been through a lot together. A lot. ” His shoulders stiffen. “Perhaps it’s best we leave it there.”
    “Of course.” I swivel my head, resting it atop my hands, again attempting to put aside the petty hurt in my heart. “You have others to confide in, after all.”
    So much for attempting—or even kidding myself that I did. But the dig is vague. He has as much right to toss it aside as I did to make it. If he does, then at least I know exactly where I stand. If he does not—
    He definitely does not.
    Bracing a hand around the back of my neck, he jerks my stare back up to him. The gesture is an unsettling mix of command and calm—reminding me all too clearly of how he took over things in my bedroom, back on Arcadia. Was that just two nights ago? Only a heartbeat has passed since then, right?
    No.
    A forever has passed.
    “You heard,” he grates. “Didn’t you? Prim and me. In the pantry.” He shakes his head. Gets down a leaden swallow. “Never mind. I know you did. I felt you there. Standing at the sink.”
    Forget about unsettled. I am suddenly frightened—gripped by spectral shivers, such as the ones I have known while working late in the palais and glimpsing the building’s famous ghosts in my periphery. Only now, the otherworld does not hide in the shadows. It is here, in the air between us…in the dazzle of emeralds in Cassian’s eyes, in the promise of fire in his touch…in the confirmation that he knows me, senses me, feels me just as I do him.
    In the magic of us.
    “Prim is a good friend, Ella. Nothing more.”
    But you have history with her. A lot of it.
    I cannot bring myself to utter it. “She has the right to feel…what she feels.”
    He grunts. Retorts through his teeth, “The fuck she does.”
    “She cares about you. It is a glaring truth, Cassian, from the first second she gazes upon you.” I curl a hand against his cheek, as if I can actually soothe his ire. “I do not blame her.”
    He presses his hand over mine. Runs it down to my elbow with nearly punishing pressure. “I don’t want to talk about her right now.”
    “But…”
    “But what?”
    I push to a sitting position. Pull my arm down—as far as he will let me. His hold on my elbow remains firm and determined. “ Am I just a ‘rescue project’ to you, Cassian? The Eliza Doolittle you yanked from the slums, and—”
    He shoves to his feet. I almost expect him to punch one of the walls or windows but he becomes scarier, not moving, his posture impossibly erect. “Is that what you believe?” Every word is so low, they are almost drowned by a pair of emergency sirens down on the street, their wails growing.
    “I…I do not want to.”
    I let my head fall, but that brings even more bizarre sensations. Sitting here, my gaze filled with his bare feet, I feel…intimate with him. Stripped for him.
    Connecting…
    I lean forward. Just enough to touch his knee with my forehead. He’s only wearing white cotton pants, and I realize he must have yanked them out of his luggage. They smell the way he did on Arcadia: his cedar and soap blended with ocean wind and oranges…
    And there’s something else now. A smell unique to New York. Musky. Masculine. Really erotic.
    Before I can breathe it in again, he is next to me. Next to me, plummeted back to the floor. Both his hands dig into my hair, forcing my gaze up into his.
    Connecting…
    “Don’t you see?” he rasps into